


The Demon Wolf and the Nogitsune

by PenPatronusAooO



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon Stiles Stilinski, Demon possession, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Nemeton, Post-Episode: s03e20 Echo House, Protective Derek, Protective Scott, The Hale House, Trickster - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6074241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenPatronusAooO/pseuds/PenPatronusAooO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only way to save Stiles from the Nogitsune is to fight fire with fire - the demon with a demon wolf. Can Scott and Derek trust Deucalion or does he have his own agenda?</p><p>STORY COMPLETE!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Demon Wolf and the Nogitsune

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FanFiction.net. Written after "Echo House" but before "The Fox and the Wolf."

The silver moon was Derek's only companion in the jail cell. Argent fell asleep around midnight, restless and dreaming. Derek heard him whisper Allison's name through the wall. Derek was too twitchy, too itchy to sleep. There were too many noises in the police station: ringing phones, humming computers, bustling papers, pacing feet, unfamiliar heartbeats. And every time he got close to dozing off he'd hear one of the officers use a key word that would shoot his body full of adrenaline. There were many key words. Not just "Hale" or "Argent." They spoke about the Japanese mafia, about Agent McCall's case against Stilinski, about Deputy Parrish getting attacked. Derek especially perked up whenever anybody said "Stiles."

Putting the Stiles story together was like trying to complete a puzzle when the pieces were upside down. Derek overheard people talking about someplace called "Echo House." He heard veteran officers telling the rookies about Claudia Stilinski, about how the sheriff just found out that his son has the same disease. How Stiles had gone missing, but Derek couldn't figure out if they were talking about the last two times he'd disappeared, or if it had happened again. He considered just asking them. But how to word it? Excuse me, but can you give me an update on my dying friend who's possessed by a demon? I'm just curious to know if he brutally massacred anyone. Yeah, right.

What would change if he knew exactly what was happening with Stiles, anyway? He'd worry more (if that was possible). There was nothing the officers could say that would unclench the fist of anxiety in Derek's stomach. So what if Stiles was missing again? Derek was stuck in jail. Although it drove him nuts to sit still, Chris' reminder that he couldn't help Stiles or anyone else if he was being hunted down by the FBI was what kept Derek sitting on his hands. Maybe Stiles was missing from this "Echo House" because Scott and the others cured him and they all went on a road trip to Vegas. Maybe Stiles had just gotten lost in that place and they'd find him locked in a janitor's closet in the attic. Maybe Stiles was dead—

Derek shook his head, shook away the thought. He was out of the loop in jail. Derek hated being out of the loop. He ached to be in control. When he was an Alpha he wanted control because it came with power. Now he wanted control because it came with comfort. If he could just control his corner of the world, just have everyone he cared about in the same room, within arm's reach, safe and well and out of danger… Derek sighed. He leaned the back of his head against the cell bars and basked in the moonlight. Briefly he fantasized about kidnapping Stiles, Scott, Isaac, even Lydia and others and joining Cora in South America. Maybe if he just got away from Beacon Hills he'd be safe…

Something blocked the moon. With his eyes shut Derek couldn't see it, but he felt the light disappear. A silhouette stood, spread-legged, arms crossed and staring through the two panes of glass and one row of iron bars. A familiar silhouette.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Derek whispered. He knew that the newcomer could hear him easily enough.

"I'm doing you a favor," said Deucalion. The Alpha looked older. How had he aged twenty years in two months? He peered at Derek with an expressionless face. "Actually, I'm returning a favor."

"I don't need you to bust me out of here," said Derek. "I would've escaped already if I wanted to."

Deucalion crouched low onto his haunches. "You and Scott disappoint me sometimes, Derek. You're so… shortsighted. It still amazes me that you managed to beat both Jennifer and I."

"And how does insulting me repay me for sparing your life?"

"Do you know why I call myself a Demon Wolf, Derek? Do know what a Demon Wolf is?" Demon. Another keyword. Derek's eyebrows slid towards his nose. He stood up. "Not long after I became an Alpha, Derek, a rival pack summoned a demon to possess me. They planned for that demon to take control of me, slaughter my entire pack and, eventually, kill me." The fist in Derek's stomach trembled. His bed sat at the foot of the window and he walked up to the edge of it. "But I was stronger than they anticipated," Deucalion continued. "I fought that demon. I fought him in some netherworld version of my own soul. And when I defeated him I was infused with all of his powers. No longer possessed, and ten times as strong."

Derek's throat was so dry that he had to swallow three times. "What kind of a demon was it?" he croaked.

The corner of Deucalion's mouth twitched. "A Nogitsune."

Derek leapt onto the bed. He grabbed onto the iron bars and did a pull up until he was face-to-face with Deucalion. "You can save Stiles?"

"No." Deucalion snorted. "That would be impossible. But if you come with me right now, I can show you how to teach him to save himself."

Derek punched his fist through the glass window. With a roar he tore the iron bars off one by one. They clanged against the cement floor, against the cell bars, against each other in a high-pitched wail of wind chimes. Derek heard Chris shout his name, heard police officers running towards them. But by the time they got there Derek was through the window and following Deucalion to his car.

\---------------------------------------

Scott McCall tiptoed into the hospital room. It was 3AM and his stomach was protesting. His body wanted him to eat and rest. His mind wanted to sleep. His soul ached for his best friend. "You never know how much someone means to you until you lose them, huh?" he said to the prone figure in the bed. "Sorry I haven't visited you but Stiles – Stiles is missing again. Malia showed up at Deaton's this morning with a story about… Well, it doesn't matter. Stiles is missing and I've been searching for him for 18 hours and when I can't talk to him I talk to you but here you are…" Scott sighed and sat on the edge of the hospital bed. Without looking he found a cold hand and squeezed it. "We need you, Isaac. I need all the help I can get. I don't know what to do… God—" Scott rubbed his wet eyes. "God, I don't know what to do…"

Part of Scott expected Isaac to squeeze his hand back. He'd wake up, give Scott one of those crooked, half-amused smiles and tell him that everything was going to be ok. Why? Because it always was. Because Stiles didn't deserve what was happening to him. Because Scott took the moral high ground. Because the rest of the pack would help him. Because it was only fair.

Isaac didn't move. Scott was alone.

"Scott."

Startled, Scott looked down at Isaac, then towards the door where the whisper actually came from. 

"Come on," Derek urged. "We have a plan."

\---------------------------------------

Scott didn't expect the "we" to include Deucalion. He kept one eye trained on the Demon Wolf at all times as the three of them drove through the preserve. Scott updated them on everything Malia told him about Echo House, and Deucalion told him about demon wolves. "Even if we could do this," Scott said, "nobody can find Stiles. We've looked everywhere."

"Oh, didn't I mention?" Deucalion almost looked sincere in the rearview mirror. "I caught him."

"What?" Derek and Scott gasped.

"He's contained at the Hale house. Where did you think we were driving?"

"How did you find him?" Scott asked. He was in the back of the SUV, and leaned forward, stretching the seatbelt around his waist, until he was almost cheek to cheek with Derek in the passenger seat.

Deucalion shrugged. "I sensed the demon. Evil spirits have a distinct smell."

"And he wasn't too strong for you?"

"Demon verses demon, Scott. And because I'm an Alpha I’m stronger than him. Speaking of… I should probably mention the little hiccup in this plan."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Here it comes…"

"I was able to defeat the Nogitsune that possessed me because I was stronger than it. Unfortunately, I was unable to identify the source of that strength. It might have been pure survival instinct, perhaps the strength of my intelligence. But, most likely it was the fact that I was a werewolf. Stiles, as you know, is not."

"Then I'll turn him," Scott said. "Before we do anything else, I'll bite him."

"I wouldn't recommend that." Deucalion cleared his throat. "I'm not sure his body would survive the transformation at this point."

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Derek demanded.

"You'll see."

Bile boiled in Scott's throat. "Did you just catch him or did you beat him up?"

Deucalion just sighed.

Scott smelled the blood before they reached the house. If he didn't need Deucalion to save Stiles' life, he would've snapped his neck right then and there. He took off running before the car came to a complete stop. The front door was open. The symbol of the Alpha pack was visible where Scott scratched the paint off all those months ago. Derek caught up with him and they scattered, searching, as soon as they entered the house.

Scott was in the living room when he heard Derek shout his name. He sprinted across the hall to the dining room and saw Derek kneeling on the floor with his back to him. "Oh god," Derek muttered. The rusty scent of blood overpowered everything and Scott felt sick to his stomach even before he looked over Derek's shoulder.

Deucalion hadn't bothered to tie Stiles up or even handcuff him to the table. He didn't need to. Stiles lay on the floor on his back, deathly still. He was one big swollen bruise. Every visible inch of his skin that wasn't red with blood was some tone of purple or blue. Derek lifted him up as gently as he would an infant, and cradled the teen against his chest. Stiles' heartbeat was sluggish. His breaths were short. His left leg was definitely broken and one eye was swollen completely shut. Scott stumbled around them and took off his coat and shirt, leaving a gray tank beneath. He rolled the clothes into a pillow then stepped aside while Derek picked Stiles up and set him gently on the table.

Derek heard Deucalion step up behind him. "You said that when you defeated the demon, you took all of his power. If Stiles defeats this one will the same thing happen to him? Will he be as strong as you?"

They heard the shrug in Deucalion's voice. "Perhaps."

"I hope so," Derek growled. "When he's better I'll let him have the privilege of beheading you." Derek removed his leather jacket and put it over Stiles' legs. He had an extra t-shirt under his long-sleeved shirt so he used both of them to cover Stiles' stomach and chest. Affectionately, he stroked the side of his thumb across Stiles' forehead.

"It could've been worse, boys," said Deucalion. "I could've dismembered him."  
Scott's eyes flashed red. He clamped his fingers down on the wooden table and took a slow, shaky breath. "Need to take a walk, Scott?" Deucalion asked. "Clear your head? Calm your mind?"

Scott's nostrils flared wide. "Let's just get this over with."

"Fair enough. Roll him onto his stomach."

"Why?"

"Because, Scott, you're going to stab your fingers into the back of his neck and I doubt you want to get to the back of his neck by going through the front of it."

"He's never done that before. He hasn't even watched another Alpha do it!" Derek said. "You know he could paralyze him – kill him!"

Deucalion leaned against the corner of the table and cocked his head to the side. "You better hope for your sake that he doesn't. He'll be stabbing you, too. At the same time."

"That's how we're going to talk to Stiles?" Scott scratched the back of his head and stared down at the floor before turning to Derek. "I thought that thing only let Alphas steal memories…?"

"No. There are lots of uses. It's how I spoke to my mother. I've never heard of doing it to two people at once, though." Derek rubbed the corner of Stiles' t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger.

"It will create a shared consciousness between all three of you," Deucalion explained. "Your minds will be one and the same. You'll just have to find Stiles in whatever landscape your collective minds conjure. Find him and tell him to fight the Nogitsune, not run from it."

Derek's lips pursed together so tightly that they turned white. "That's it? That's all we tell him? That's all we can do is encourage him to fight?"

Deucalion shrugged. He examined his fingernails, looking bored. "When I was possessed I hid from the demon. I hid in dark corners of my own mind. It was weeks before I realized that fighting the Nogitsune in my mind was no different than fighting him physically. It was my mind. I was in control. I imagined growing claws, finding weapons, wearing armor… And then I stopped hiding and started attacking. That's what freed me. That's what woke me up."

"So we give Stiles an imaginary baseball bat, sit back and hope he gets the courage to swing it?"

Deucalion's eyes drifted lazily between Derek and Scott. "That's all I have to tell you."

"Fine." Scott slid his palms under Stiles' back and slowly turned him over onto his stomach. Derek adjusted his face so that his nose pointed towards him. After adjusting the pillow and the covers, Derek and Scott exchanged determined looks and agreed about what they were going to do without saying a word. "Show me where to stab."

Deucalion knocked a knuckle against the table. "Hop up, Scott. Derek, you lie on your stomach like Stiles and Scott will sit in between you." A brief hesitation, and then Derek obeyed. Lying face down on the table made him feel vulnerable, exposed. The second Scott made the connection Deucalion could slash all of their throats. It was a lot of trust to give their enemy. Too much. Too much to risk for anyone else… Anyone except Stiles. Derek closed his eyes and ordered his muscles to relax. Whether they succeeded with the plan or not, at least it would all be over soon.

Scott sat on the table between his friends. "Here." Deucalion arranged Scott's claws against the backs of Derek and Stiles' necks. Scott let him guide his fingers but couldn't shake the image of a puppeteer pulling strings. Deucalion finished and took a step backwards. "I'll count to three, if it will help," he said. "On three, jam your claws one third of an inch down. At two-thirds you'll pierce their brain stems. At one inch you'll kill them."

Scott's fingers started to tremble. "How the hell do I measure one third of an inch?" he asked through closed, grating teeth.

Deucalion ignored him. "Let's do this before you chicken out, Scott. On three: one, two…"

Scott pictured a ruler in his mind's eye. At "three" he pushed down while imagining that measuring stick descending into water. When the stick reached 1/3 of an inch, Scott assumed that he did, too. For an infinitesimal amount of time he thought he'd failed. But then, he felt like there were claws in his own neck, and the room, the house, the whole world went black.

\---------------------------------------

The Argent's apartment was eight miles away from the Hale house. Allison asked Lydia to spend the night. She didn't want to admit it but with her dad in jail, Isaac in the hospital, Stiles possessed and Scott out looking for him, Allison just didn't want to be alone. Not that she couldn't sleep. Not that she couldn't protect herself if something wanted to hurt her. She just didn't want to be alone.

So Allison slept soundly on her back on the right side of her queen-sized bed and Lydia lay curled up on the left. And at the exact moment when, eight miles away, Deucalion shoved his claws into Scott's neck after Scott impaled Derek and Stiles, a scream burst from Lydia's throat that was so loud and so high-pitched that every piece of glass in Allison's room shattered. 

\---------------------------------------

The Nogitsune was on the prowl. It smelled Stiles' soul. So close, so close.  
Stiles' soul was the last petal to pluck, the last leash to cut, the last tether to sever. If the demon found it, it was all over. Stiles would cease to exist. He wouldn't even be a sense of déjà vu in the Nogitsune's memory. At Echo House, Stiles let the demon in and now, the demon intended to shut him out.

\---------------------------------------

"Drive faster!" Lydia snapped at Allison. "Would you hurry up?"

Allison was still trying to shake the sleep off of her body. "You're no fun like this," she muttered without taking her eyes off of the road.

"I'm sorry." Lydia's words were more sarcasm than not. "The next time I have a vision of our friends dying I'll try to be calmer."

Allison flew through a stop sign and turned down the road that led to the preserve. "Explain to me again what you saw?"

Lydia rubbed her temples. "I saw Scott in Derek's old house. Derek and Stiles were lying face down on a table and Scott had his fingers in their necks. And then it was like – it was like someone stabbed Scott. Someone behind him. Blood started coming out of Stiles' ears and he screamed and…" Lydia brushed her left cheek and then her right. Tears trickled off the ends of her perfectly manicured nails. "Oh God, Allison, I felt Stiles die. More than that I felt…"

Allison waited patiently for as long as she could. "What? Lydia, what did you feel?"

The banshee's voice shrunk. "I felt that demon pull him down to Hell. Stiles was… damned."

Allison drove faster.

\---------------------------------------

Stiles Stilinski's mind was a dark, foggy forest. A month ago it looked like his high school. A week ago it looked like the basement of Echo House and an examination room in the hospital. But now, now the Nogitsune was about to finish swallowing Stiles' soul whole. Now all that was left of Stiles looked like the Beacon Hills preserve. A circle of fog slowly moved towards the center of the imagined forest, towards the wide tree stump at the very heart of Stiles. And there the boy lay spread-eagled on his back. His left hand hung limp over the side of the stump. His eyes were open but unfocused. A thin trail of blood leaked from one ear to be soaked up by the Nemeton's porous wood. Stiles felt the fog coming. Soon it would envelop him, suffocate him, drown him. The Nogitsune was about to finish him off and, although he hated himself for wishing it, Stiles wanted it over. At least he'd see his mother. At least his last act was saving Malia's life.

A tendril of white fog licked his bare feet. Stiles shut his eyes and waited for a bandaged hand to hold him down and an iron mouth to pierce him. That crunch-crackle of approaching footsteps got louder. The demon was so close that Stiles could feel its breath on his cheek. 

Suddenly, lightning lit the forest. Two more flashes followed. Stiles heard voices shout his name, felt hands on his body. Hands of warm, human skin. Not rough bandages. Thinking it had to be his mother's spirit come to comfort him in his final moments, Stiles opened his eyes.

There were Scott's hands grasping his shoulder and patting the ribs guarding his heart. One of Derek's hands was behind his neck, the other on his cheek. They both shouted at him – something about getting up. Stiles decided that this was the Nogitsune's final torture. They weren't real. They were just hallucinations to give him one last second of hope. Scott and Derek weren't in his mind. They couldn't be.

Stiles blinked. His nose started to bleed and his fingers were numb. His eyes rolled back into his skull.

"Stiles? Stiles – dammit – Stiles!" His best friend's face briefly disappeared from Scott's vision when tears clouded his eyes.

Derek stood, stepped off the Nemeton, and combed his hair with all ten fingers. "Did we just lose him?" he whispered. "Did we just find him and lose him all in five seconds?"

Scott gripped Stiles' shoulders and shook him. "His heartbeat's slowing down. God, Stiles, come on – come on!"

Derek rubbed his palms down his face. He didn't realize there were tears on his cheeks until he tasted salt on his lips. "We're too late, Scott. We're too— Scott!"

Deucalion came out of nowhere. He landed on his boots just behind Scott and in a whirlwind of gnashing teeth and swiping claws managed to inflict so much pain on Scott and Derek that they both collapsed beside Stiles. Scott rolled to his side, his arms wrapped around a particularly deep gash in his stomach, and flashed his red eyes at the other alpha. "What – what are you doing?" he gasped. "What are you doing here?"

Deucalion cocked his head to the side, resembling a curious puppy more than the monstrous Demon Wolf. "What?" he said with faux sincerity. "I'm here to do what you're here to do: kill a demon." The bandaged Nogitsune emerged from the fog. Deucalion sniffed the air and turned to face it. "Speak of the devil," he said with a pixyish wink at Derek and Scott. "Sit tight, boys. I'll be back in a minute."

Derek pushed himself up onto his elbows. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

Deucalion ignored him. He approached the blind, bandaged demon and stood with his arms crossed, feet shoulder-length apart. The Nogitsune's breathing was heavy, strained. Derek and Scott waited for it to attack Deucalion, to attack the parasite inside the host it possessed.

The demon didn't attack. It didn't speak or run.

It bowed.

The Nogitsune got down on one knee and then the other. Slowly it lowered its head until its forehead almost touched the dark grass. "You've done well," Deucalion said to it.

"Thank you, master," the demon whispered. "I'm nearly finished. The boy will cease to breathe soon."

"Excellent." Deucalion started to loop around the demon, walking slowly, effortlessly silent. Like Stiles' mind was his territory. His eyes bore down on Derek and Scott. "If it makes you boys feel better, Deucalion doesn't want me to do this." Scott and Derek exchanged shocked looks. There were a thousand questions in their expressions. "He really was a 'man of vision' when he knew your mother, Derek. But that was before I possessed him."

Derek fought his way up to his knees. "I’m speaking with a Nogitsune?"

Scott crawled closer to Stiles. His friend's skin was tinted blue. Scott listened to his lungs.

The demon in Deucalion smirked. "It's true that defeating a demon makes a werewolf stronger. It's also true that possessing a werewolf makes a demon stronger. My goal has always been power. Power by possessing an Alpha werewolf, power by creating an Alpha pack, power by using a fellow Nogitsune to drain the life out of an innocent human to lure two more werewolves into my trap."

Scott heard a ragged exhale from Stiles' lips. No inhale followed it. "Derek," Scott hiccupped, his throat nearly closed, "Derek, he's not breathing!"

The Nogitsune bowing on the ground lifted its face and looked up at Deucalion. "You said the werewolves would be mine," it hissed. "You said you'd bring them here for me to drain."

"Derek!" Scott's voice was little more than a squeak.

"Did I?" Deucalion said to the Nogitsune. "You shouldn't be surprised by this, not really." Deucalion's claws extended and he slowly wrapped his hands around the Nogitsune's bandaged neck. "After all, I am a demon."

A single mighty snap of the Nogitsune's neck and the demon collapsed to the ground leaving its head in Deucalion's grip. Right then – right when the Nogitsune died – Stiles' body convulsed. He started to breathe, then cough. His eyes opened and focused and red colored his face. Half a minute later and he was sitting up on the Nemeton and looking back and forth between Derek, Deucalion, Scott and the dead demon in the grass. Deucalion made a face at the severed head, then tossed it aside.

"Derek, Scott, what—" Stiles wheezed. Brown eyes squinted at Deucalion and his face went white again.

"Thank you for your help, Stiles." Deucalion flexed his arms and breathed the other Nogitsune's force, magic and power into himself. "Now, if you could just stay asleep for another thirty seconds while I ingest Scott and Derek here, I'll be happy to let you go free and healthy when this is all over."

Scott and Derek cried out and doubled over in pain. Juggling confusion and desperation, Stiles touched both of their shoulders and demanded to know what was going on. 

"Stiles, you have to wake up," Scott said.

There it was. Full circle. It all came back to Stiles struggling to wake himself up from a nightmare. But this nightmare was real.

"Wake up, Stiles," Stiles whispered to himself.  
Derek passed out. Scott hung on a moment longer and then he was gone, too. Again Stiles was alone with a demon. "Wake up!" he ordered himself. He stood and inhaled air and pulled his eyes as wide as possible. "Come on, Stiles, wake up!"

"Nice try, kid," the demon that was Deucalion sneered. "But nothing can save your friends, now."

A new sound. The wind, at first, they thought. Then a whistle. A whistle into a shrill into a shriek so loud that their eardrums all popped and their brains swelled. So loud that Stiles screamed.

So loud that Stiles woke up.

\---------------------------------------

Allison cowered in the corner of the Hale's dining room with her hands cupped over her ears. Lydia's banshee shriek shook the walls. Warm blood leaked down Allison's fingers.

The girls arrived in the Hale house like a grenade: Allison with her bow up and armed, Lydia bursting with supernatural screams. Instinct pulled the banshee to the table where Scott lay slumped on his side with his fingertips stuck in Derek and Stiles' necks. And Deucalion – smiling in his half-sleep – all ten claws in Scott's neck. Lydia gave into the instinct to scream with no clue how it would help. She just let it loose for as long as she had breath. The sound was unreal. Beyond unreal. The walls weren't just shaking, they were crumbling. And then, a minute later when every sound and breath was gone from her body, Lydia lost her voice and collapsed, dizzy, to her knees.  
Dust rained down from the ceiling. Splinters of wood followed, two-by-fours followed that.

Movement out of the corner of Allison's eyes. She stood and swung her bow, connecting the thick of it to Deucalion's nose. The Demon Wolf staggered back. Blindly he swung his claws at the young Argent but she ducked.  
Someone grabbed Lydia by the elbow and yanked her to her feet. She shuddered, terrified, but it was a familiar voice that said, "Lydia, help me!"

Stiles.

Stiles.

Alive and well and on his feet and moving, Stiles Stilinski yanked Scott off of the table onto the floor. He took Lydia's hand and wrapped it around Scott's. "Drag him out of here!" Stiles shouted. "This place is falling apart!" It took most of Lydia's strength but she slowly pulled Scott towards the door.

Deucalion made a break for the door but Allison shot an arrow into the back of his leg. He grunted, pivoted and sprinted towards her like a stampeding bull. Stiles pulled her out of the way and he barreled into the staircase.

The staircase collapsed.

The entire house was falling down.

"Get out!" Stiles told Allison. He shoved her towards the door. "Hurry!"

Allison obeyed. She jogged through the front door, barely avoiding an I-beam twice her size. A leap off the porch, a roll across dry grass and rocky ground and she caught up with Lydia. Together then pulled Scott to the tree line. He groaned, then. Eyes fluttering, fingers flexing. Allison and Lydia returned their attention to the house. It was folding in on itself.

"Stiles!" Lydia squeaked.

Allison took a step closer. She tossed her weapons aside yanked on her hair. "Come on," she said. "Stiles, get out of there. Come on, come on!"

A crunch. An explosion of iron nails. Dust billowed out of the windows and doors in a cloud so big that it blocked their view of the house. Behind the girls Scott sat up, rubbing his eyes and breathing heavily. One glance at the scene told him what was happening and his heart nearly leapt out his throat.

"Stiles!" Lydia kept screaming. "Stiles! Stiles!"

A minute passed. The dust began to settle.  
And then a figure emerged. A shadow at first, barely recognizable, barely humanoid. When the dust cleared there was Stiles with Derek in a fireman's carry, stumbling away from the rubble, limping more than not. Ten feet from the tree line he collapsed to his knees, barely managing to keep Derek from slamming into the ground. A rush of wind, a blur of motion that was Scott sprinted between Allison and Lydia and dove at Stiles. The girls followed and all three of them helped Stiles lower Derek gently to the dirt. Dust in his throat woke Derek up as he started to cough. Another minute and Derek was sitting. For a brief moment Stiles, Scott and Derek stared at Lydia and Allison, who stared back at them with tears carving paths through the dirt on their cheeks. And then as one they wrapped their arms around Stiles, around each other, and had a trembling, relieved five-minute-long group hug. Behind them the rising sun burst through the remains of the Hale house. So warm on their cheeks. So comforting.

Finally, Derek stood and approached what was left of his burned and buried home. The others stayed silent, waiting for him to confirm what they all hoped. "No heartbeat," Derek said. He turned back to his friends with a relieved smile and shrugged. "Buried. He's dead."

It was over.

\---------------------------------------

**Two Days Later**

The McCall pack sat in a semi-circle of old couches the werewolves carried into Derek's loft. Kira, Chris Argent, Deaton and Sheriff Stilinski joined them for dinner. And then, to everyone's surprise, Melissa showed up not only with pizza but with a fully-healed Isaac. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged and while they ate they all shared their stories.

"We had no clue," Ethan said. He looked at his twin brother for confirmation. "The Deucalion we knew was probably already possessed when we met him."

"Kali? Ennis?" Scott said. "They didn't know, either?" The twins shook their heads.

"Trickster," Stiles said. "Tricky, tricky trickster." He stuffed half a slice of pepperoni in his mouth and chewed loudly. Stiles was still bruised from Deucalion's beating. The bones in his left leg were cracked but hadn't broken. Derek and Scott got slashed when the house collapsed but the girls escaped unscathed.

The door to Derek's loft slid open, then. A thin face framed by blonde-brown hair peeked in. "You're alive!" Malia said when she saw Stiles. She grinned but then her smile faded, hesitating.

Stiles gulped his food down. He rolled off the couch and half jogged, half limped across the room. He looked up at Malia from three steps down below the door. "Are you all right?" he asked her. "Everything that happened – I'm so sorry—"

Malia just shook her head. She walked down the stairs, leaning her face over Stiles' as she went so that when she landed on the floor their mouths connected. Isaac and Aiden whistled cat calls that made Stiles blush, and Allison and Scott clapped. When they parted, Malia chuckled and leaned her forehead against his chest. "Stiles, what happened between us…in that basement…"

He went from a rosy blush to a warm red. "I, um, I know we were both in a weird place – no pun, ha. I'll understand if you feel weird about—"

Malia used the tip of her finger to shut him up. "I was just going to suggest," she whispered, "that the next time we do that we should go somewhere more romantic than a mental hospital."

The goofy grin on Stiles' face wiped away the red. "Deal," he whispered, and gently kissed her again. "Come on. Meet my friends. Want some pizza?"

**The End**


End file.
